


On Friday

by dizzy



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:05:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is why Friday is Daniel's favorite day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Friday

Friday is the best day of the week. Not every Friday; not last Friday, when they were sludging through hip deep mud, when Mitchell wouldn't shut up about the perfect steak he'd grilled the night before and Sam got bitten by some sort of bug (something not fatal but damned painful) and Daniel had come home with an ache in his back and a stench he couldn't get rid of for days.

But those Fridays when they don't have missions, when Daniel gets to go home at the end of the day, when the phone rings at half past six just as Daniel is sinking down onto his couch with a heavy book in his lap, those are good days. When Jack calls him and he's exhausted, usually still at his office, even though they're usually interrupted half a dozen times throughout the course of the call, those are good. Daniel's still amazed at how those conversations pack more into them than a year's worth of small talk did while Jack was still here. There's a sense, not of urgency, but of needing to make the most of their time, that they lacked before. Seeing each other was enough. Kisses, touches, slamming together fast and hard because they could and it worked and it was enough. With that removed, there was a period where they struggled, and then one night Jack called and the next week Jack called back at the same time and they fell into it, like everything else they've ever done, without much talking about it first.

Now Daniel's on his couch, sweatpants and a t-shirt replacing his BDUs, pile of mail by the door and phone resting on the arm of the couch. He's tired - most of the week spent adjusting to the sleep cycles of a different planet, a hundred times worse than jet lag has ever been for him - but he's determined to stay away for the phone call.

The phone call doesn't come, though. Six, six-fifteen, six-thirty. Daniel starts to frown, starts to worry. Jack's never not called, even when he'd call just to say hold on. The weariness fades and Daniel sits up, wonders if he should call. He's halfway to dialing the number when there's a knock on the door.

It's Jack, hands in his pockets, dressed down in jeans and a loose flannel shirt, looking older and softer and grayer and adorably sheepish, giving Daniel a smile and a shrug. "Ring ring?"


End file.
